


That James Dean daydream look in your eye.

by dinnafashnow



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinnafashnow/pseuds/dinnafashnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the rounds of promotion at San Diego Comic Con, Sam and Cait try to work out how to exist outside their Scottish bubble. Post-premiere messiness and feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That James Dean daydream look in your eye.

The premiere was done; it was finally behind them. They'd reached the messy end of the evening, the part where they could relax. The part where thousands of eyes had stopped staring at them for at least a few hours. The part where they'd finished their responsibilities for the day, as well as the couple of drinks they'd been offered backstage after finishing the very dry panel. The part where Cait was close to falling asleep on her feet, clinging to him like a limpet, and he had to keep his arm around her to assist in keeping her upright. Mostly upright.  


  


"She's just really knackered," he'd said in response to Tobias's eloquently raised eyebrow as he slipped past them. He felt Cait stiffen slightly, her own response to prying eyes, but when she moved to let go of him and put enough awkward distance back between them, he tightened his arm around her. She didn't struggle, but threw an exaggerated yawn in to back up the statement. He rested his chin lightly against her temple. Her hair smelled like chemicals, but nice ones. Hair ones.

  


The cars were on their way, pulling up one at a time. Sam frowned to see they were just regular service cars, not the same flashy numbers they'd arrived in. Cait pulled her head back slightly to glance up at him.

"All right?"

"Hmm?"

"I felt you frown," she replied, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a one-sided smile. He smiled in return.

"Just the cars." He shrugged his free shoulder and looked a little embarrassed. Cait snorted out a giggle in response and rested back against his side, looking out at the big black thing into which Tobias was currently crouching his way inside.

"You weirdo."

Sam scoffed. "I'm a man, it's a man thing. You women and your womanly things wouldn't understand."

"Womanly things," she replied, dropping one of her hands to tug at his kilt. "Like—"

  
"Room for one more!" Graham's voice cut her off, and they both followed the sound of it to spot him sticking his head out the car door and looking in their direction.

"We'll wait!" Sam hollered back in response, and the car door was closed. It pulled away moments later, and Sam and Cait were left standing alone. Alone, with half a dozen others still coming and going through the stage door, holding clipboards, not holding anything, looking at them, not looking at them.

  
Cait was keeping still and quiet, and for a moment or two, Sam suspected she had actually nodded off. He wasn't sure if it was possible, gravity considered... he _was_ still holding her quite tightly... but then she spoke, though he didn't quite hear it. He pressed his lips lightly against her temple and then nudged her with his shoulder.

"Speak up."

"I said, you should have gotten in the car. Or I should have. One of us should have."

"I wasn't going to leave you standing here alone, don't be ridiculous."

"Such a nice guy." There was an inflection to her words that he wasn't excited to hear. Still, she didn't move.

  
Another car pulled up to the kerb and the driver got out to open the door. One of the hovering assistants had a quick word and then gestured for Sam and Cait to get in. Sam felt like an unhappy magnet, pulling away from their comfortable stance, but clasped Cait's hand firmly in his and led her to the car, pausing to assist her in before climbing in after her. She kept her eye out the window on the passing lights, and he kept an eye on her. The car ride was silent, but it was also over quickly.

  
Another assistant met their car and walked them through the hotel foyer, running through a quick brief of the following day's activities before glancing at their bleary eyes.

"Um, how about just showering and eating done by eight thirty for hair and makeup. Okay?"

"What's the time now?"

"I don't think I should tell you until you agree to eight thirty go time."

Sam laughed. "It doesn't matter—eight thirty is fine."

"Great!" She hit the elevator button for them and smiled before heading back off to the entryway again. "Sleep well!"

  
Sam followed Cait into the elevator and hit their floor number. The door closed as he pulled his tie undone. She stayed quiet and he stayed watching her as he undid the top couple of buttons on his shirt and shrugged his jacket off, hanging it over his arm.

"I just..." Cait's arms were crossed over her front and she was firmly focused on a point on the floor. "I'd rather not hear the chatter. The cogs turning. The rumour mills firing. Do mills fire? You know. It's bad. You forget. I've seen. It's not fun. It's not great."

His brow furrowed. What had triggered this? Was it just being here? Was it waiting for the next car? He'd honestly stayed behind so as to not abandon her. And because her arms had been around him and he hadn't wanted to move. He wanted to move now, though. He wanted to cover the two steps between them and wrestle her to the ground, or something. But the elevator probably wasn't a place to be doing that, and she was clearly a little spooked, so he thought he might try some quiet words instead.

"I am crazy about you."

"Sam."

"It _can_ work."

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Cait finally looked up, and she did give him a faint smile, but it seemed laced with apology rather than hope.

  
Cait's room was closer, and she pulled her room key from her pocket, pushing the door open and hesitating at the threshold. Sam waited to say goodnight, regardless. It wasn't the first time he'd tried to convince her of things, and it likely wouldn't be the last. He'd heard every one of her arguments and by this time had a firm rebuttal for each of them. But previous conversations had been on an entirely different continent, and right now, what felt like an entirely different world. And he was tired. And she was tired. Not tonight.

"Good night, Cait."

"Night, Sam."

She gave him that same smile again. He didn't like that one.

  
Further down the corridor and just around a corner, he hesitated at the door to his own room. His fingers traced the edge of the blank room service menu that hung over the handle. He reached into his jacket pocket for his room key but his fingers found a pen first. The coin flip had landed. He pulled the pen out and walked back down to Cait's room, changed the order on her already hastily scribbled room service menu from a "1" to a "2", and knocked gently.

  
The door cracked open and he slipped inside.

  
The bedside lamp cast a muted light through the room. Her dress was already back on its hanger, and her arms were already around his neck. He pulled her close to him, his arms around her tightly. He tucked his face against her neck, breathing in deeply, breathing out slowly, hearing and feeling her doing the same. After a moment that could have continued on forever, she pulled back from him, and he brought his hands up to grasp her shoulders, ready to rebut anything she wanted to say. All she did was silently reach for his shirt buttons, undoing them deftly before skimming her hands along the waistband of his kilt, searching for a clasp.

"Geroff me kilt, ye dirty wee skirtlifter."

Cait's hands froze but her eyebrows raised as she lifted her face to make sure he caught that Look, and he chuckled in response, reaching back around to prove that a bra clasp was easier to find and deal with than a kilt. She shrugged out of it and tossed it over onto her mounted pile of luggage, her hands going to her own waistband.

  
"Hey," he said quietly, pulling her back in against him. She gave over, her hands slipping down over his back and ducking under the waist of his kilt, just resting. Claiming. He kissed her then, finally, remembering how badly he'd been wanting to for hours, standing in front of cameras and crowds, saying wonderful things about her over and over that were, for the most part, thinly veiled statements of _I want to kiss her_. And now here she was, finally, warm and soft and, in that moment, entirely his.

  
He kept his arms around her and stepped her backwards, his trajectory clear. She made a small objecting noise, her lips still against his, and broke contact, breathing out heavily.

"I really am this close to sleep, though. Aren't you?"

Closer to the lamp light, Sam could see she'd already taken her makeup off. Just how long was the walk to his room and back? _How...?_  


"Practice. Years of practice." She had a glint in her eye.

"You're a witch. Defying time _and_ reading minds."

She poked her tongue at him and wriggled out of his grasp, shimmying out of her knickers and quickly disappearing under the bed's blanket. Sam found the clasp of his kilt fairly quickly then, simultaneously toeing his boots off and shrugging his undone shirt off his shoulders, finally pulling his socks off and piling everything in a neat bundle on the floor.

"You'd better not be," came muttered from the bed, and he glanced over to see Cait getting cosy with a pillow and yet still casting aspersions as to the treatment of his clothing. He went to great efforts to then demonstrate his care with hanging each item delicately on a hanger in her closet, including his tie and socks.

  
A quick scrub of his face in the bathroom and then he was finding his way under the blanket, finding his way to her naked limbs, wriggling a knee between both of hers and settling in comfortably. Her arm found its way around him like it was meant to always be there. A contented noise escaped him, and before he could cover it with some witty remark, she echoed it in agreement.

  
"Lights off," he whispered, rolling up over Cait and flicking the switch. He stayed over her as his eyes adjusted, and her hand came up to rest against his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her palm, then dipped down to catch her lips with his again. Her fingers slid back through his hair as his tongue met hers, asking quietly, always hopeful, his hips pressing down just slightly, and she was giggling at his persistence, he could just _tell_. The noise vibrated against his tongue, and damnit, he was giggling, too. Chuckling. Manly chuckling.

  
"You're never wearing red lipstick again," Sam muttered, shifting his weight back off her and finding his pillow. Cait wriggled around and found her place with her back to him, leaning into him and letting out a pointed yawn.

"Good _night_ , Sam."

"Night, Cait." He found her hand and threaded his fingers through hers, pulling their clasped hands back against her chest. Yes, this was fine. "We really should have saved their money and just... shared this trailer," he murmured, half asleep already before her elbow swung back and hit his ribs. Another conversation for another day, then. For now, they were two secret spoons in a closed, dark drawer.


End file.
